


Eyes On The Horizon

by forsitvenire



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Day Off, Developing Relationship, Elaborate Nautical Vocabulary, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sailing, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25231327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forsitvenire/pseuds/forsitvenire
Summary: And so Shaw found himself on his day off, standing on some rickety quay on the outskirts of Boralus, with Flynn right in front of him in the process of clambering onto an equally rickety sailboat, that was visibly way past its prime time.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 15
Kudos: 78





	Eyes On The Horizon

**Author's Note:**

> This was my initial idea for day 1/2 of Fairshaw week (ropes/day off), but turns out I can't draw sailboats. Who knew.

It wasn’t the first time Shaw was doubtful about something that Flynn Fairwind had suggested. 

His ideas were spontaneous, impulsive and, most often, topped with a hearty pinch of recklessness, which was everything Shaw tried his best to avoid at all times. And despite that, for a reason he still wasn’t entirely sure of, he had accepted the proposition a couple of days prior, when Fairwind suggested over their shared dinner that he would teach Shaw a thing or two about sailing, if he so fancied. He had honestly no idea why he had said yes, as he didn’t have the slightest interest in sailing. He knew the basics, of course. It came with living on _Wind’s Redemption_ over the past couple of months, but other than that, he had no intention of captaining a ship on his own anytime soon. There was always someone else better suited for that role, and to be honest, he had always prefered a steady ground under his feet to the constantly swaying waves of the sea. But ever since their successful heist on the Zandalari treasury, Fairwind had become an unbidden, though not entirely unwelcome, addition to Shaw’s rather constant daily life. And as much as he tried to stay professional about this, he even started to somewhat enjoy the Kul Tiran’s company. 

And so he found himself on his day off, standing on some rickety quay on the outskirts of Boralus, with Flynn right in front of him in the process of clambering onto an equally rickety sailboat that was visibly way past its prime time. 

He stood stiffly on the swaying, saltwater-soaked planks, with his arms crossed in front of his chest, both due to the wet morning chill that the wind brought from the sea and blew right into his face, as well as the slight uneasiness that stirred in his stomach at the entire prospect of getting anywhere near the old sailboat. The more he looked at it, the more he was sure, that it was going to sink under Flynn’s considerable physique any minute now. He wasn’t the man that’d back off from a challenge (not that he considered spending a day at the sea with Fairwind a challenge), but at the same time a very probable, by the looks of it, swim in the cold, dark waters of the Sound wasn’t something he particularly looked forward to. 

Shaw was almost ready to come up with an excuse of some sort, perhaps regarding some reports he had just remembered about, or being dressed too light for such weather, but then Flynn turned to him with eyes glimmering with pure, unbridled excitement and a wide, heartfelt grin across his face, and it was all it took to discourage him entirely from all the plans regarding his prompt evacuation back into his dry, warm room on Redemption. 

Light, when had he became so irrationally soft. 

“Alright! All’s set,” Flynn said, standing up straight and rubbing his hands together excitedly. He offered one of them to Shaw, who still stood on the quay, slightly higher than the sailboat’s level. 

Shaw eyed warily the hand, its owner, and then his surroundings.The Kul Tiran’s stance seemed more or less steady, despite the sailboat swaying gently under his feet. He was standing with his legs wide and knees slightly bent, following the gentle movement of the waves as if it was something natural, almost an subconscious thing to him. It probably was, considering how many days he must’ve spent at the sea so far (and under the influence of various types of alcohol). Shaw still didn’t feel like leaning onto him would be a good idea. 

Flynn didn’t seem bothered in the slightest by Shaw’s reluctance to get on board. He stood patiently with his hand still extended, palm up, towards him and his eyes filled to the brim with polite amusement, though now there was also a glint of something mischievous visible in them. 

“Getting cold feet, Spymaster?” he asked playfully. 

Shaw rolled his eyes at him, but made no move whatsoever to leave his spot on the quay.

“I probably will, if this thing starts taking in water soon. It doesn’t look like it’s going to keep us both afloat,” he replied drily. 

Flynn laughed and patted the side of the boat with visible affection. 

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” he said lightheartedly, “She’s called _Intrepid_ for a reason, you know. With all due respect, Spymaster, you don’t look like you could beat Tand in body weight. And if she can withstand two Kul Tirans with ease, she won’t have any problems carrying a scrawny mainlander like you.” 

Shaw let Flynn’s comments pass without mentioning them, though it made it hard for him not to scowl at him with annoyance. 

“If you say so,” he said instead, trying his best to sound impassive. He unfolded his arms form the front of his chest and climbed down onto the boat carefully, though nevertheless with practiced ease. He completely ignored Flynn’s hand, though it apparently still wasn’t enough to ruin the Kul Tiran’s splendid mood. 

Shaw stepped to the middle of the grating, allowing the boat to adjust to his added weight and the slight imbalance caused to it by his boarding. He turned to Flynn, who was already kneeling at the stern, leaning overboard to disentangle the mooring from the concrete bollard attached to the quoy.

“So it’s a Proudmoore vessel, then? Why would he even bother with it, if he’s got an entire armada in a less…. disintegrating state?” 

“She’s ours,” Flynn corrected, sort of absently, visibly focused on getting the saltwater-soaked ropes in order. “I mean, she was originally given to him, but taken the time spent on her maintenance into account she should technically belong to me.”

He looped the rope around one of the ship’s many metal cleats, tight enough to still tether the sailboat to the quay, but loose enough so that it could be still pulled free with ease. 

“He doesn’t come down here as much these days, but I guess that’s understandable,” Flynn added, and a strangely somber look flashed across his face. He paused, frowned slightly and looked down at the rope coiled around his palms. Shaw watched the change in his demeanor with curiosity, but before he could consider it any further, it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Flynn put the rope down and looked up back at him, with the same excited grin on his face as before. 

“See, I took my first baby steps on the sea under her guidance,” he said, pushing past Shaw and climbing up onto the sailboat’s bow, “When we were just wee little rascals, me and Tand. She’s a good teacher, I’m sure you’ll find out soon yourself.”

He paused mid-step, realizing Shaw made no move whatsoever to follow him. He looked over his shoulder and canted his head slightly, to beckon him towards the bow as well. “Have you ever raised the sails, Spymaster? She doesn’t have as many of them as all those man-of-war you’re probably used to, but it’s an real advantage in the end, honestly.” 

He waited until Shaw scrambled onto the planks beside him, before continuing. 

“See that line reaching all the way towards the top of the mast? That’s the forestay. It serves as the frame for the jib, which in her case, is the secondary sail,” he paused to reach down and grabbed a large piece of weathered canvas that lied neatly at their feet. He unfolded the material and quickly ran it through his hands, checking for any tears or holes. 

“Tidespray linen,” he supplied, when he caught Shaw’s questioning gaze. “The main sail,” he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, “is the same. It’s excellent for sails, but terribly expensive. I had to stitch them back together multiple times along the years, but they still gather the wind just as well as they used to,” he explained, slightly sheepish.

Shaw nodded shallowly, signalling his acknowledgement of Flynn’s words. 

Flynn let go of the sail and reached beside Shaw, where another coil of rope was placed. Shaw shifted to the side, giving him a little more room, and watched as Flynn tied it to one of the edges of the sail. There were two more ropes tied to the two remaining edges, and they ran along the sides of the hull all the way towards the stern. 

“These are the halyards,” Flynn continued, pointing at the rope tied to the upper corner of the sail. The other end of the rope had been looped around the top part of the forestay and ran down the mast, until it finally ended it Flynn’s hands. “Each sail has their own, alongside a set of ropes called sheets. That’s called the running rig. Means you can pull on them and something happens, in short. The halyards are for raising the sails, and sheets are for controlling them. You’re going to work with sheets a lot today, so better get acquainted.”

Shaw caught Flynn’s gaze, and the sailor had the audacity to wink at him. A frown instinctively crept onto his face, but the other man just laughed lightheartedly. 

Flynn widened his stance, finding steady purchase on the slightly slippery planks of the hull, and yanked at the rope with visible force. It flew upwards, pulling the sail along the forestay and towards the top of the mast.

Shaw’s eyes followed instinctively the movement of the sail, and before he could catch himself, his gaze flicked down, across Flynn’s wide, finely-built arms and shoulders. His muscles were well visible even through his shirt, as they shifted and tensed with their owner’s every movement. 

The rogue’s breath caught in his throat and he looked away at once, suddenly stupidly terrified of being caught. But Flynn didn’t pay him any attention, as he secured the loose end of the jib halyard to one of the cleats attached to the side of the mast. 

There were only a few, specific moments, in which Shaw’s body decided to betray him like that. And all of them were a very long time ago, and very much buried in the deepest parts of his brain. So why now, all of the sudden? Of course, he was aware of Flynn’s profession, and that it was obvious that physical work that it involved made him develop the fine ropes of muscle coiling under his skin, and surely, having such thick thighs helped greatly with keeping balance on the swaying deck, but… Shaw cleared his throat loudly, trying to stifle the overwhelming wave of heat that rolled through his entire body, making him briefly forget about the chilly wind that blew around them. 

Flynn looked at him quizzically over his shoulder. He managed to climb back down onto the gratings in the meantime, and was apparently preparing to raise the mainsail. 

Shaw waved his hand at him vaguely, trying to signal that he was fine. He stepped down from the bow as well, then planted himself beside Flynn again, returning to his careful observations. Of the ship’s rigging, of course. 

As soon as the sails were properly raised, fluttering softly in their full glory, the sailboat seemed to come alive. It pulled at the mooring that tethered it to the quay and shifted on the waves, reacting to every single gust of wind, like a mighty steed dancing impatiently in place, waiting for its reins to be let loose. 

It was something completely new to Shaw, as such delicate movements of the ship were usually imperceptible on larger, heavier and more balanced vessels, that needed a whole lot more of wind power to be moved. 

Something changed in Flynn as well, though Shaw couldn’t exactly pinpoint what or why. His expression became softer and slightly less focused. His eyes fixated on something seemingly way beyond the horizon, and he appeared to rely purely on muscle memory as he untied the loose knots that kept the mooring in place. A few strands of his long hair had been pulled loose from his ponytail, but he seemed to completely ignore them, even as the wind blew them right across his face. 

Shaw caught himself staring at the Kul Tiran again, but this time he managed to keep himself in check. It was, after all, the sole bane of his entire existence. Observing people, while remaining unseen himself - that was what he excelled at, and frankly quite enjoyed. 

“I am aware that you outrank me,” Flynn said, as he pulled the barnacle-covered mooring on board, making sure it was coiled neatly and pushed under the deck and out of the way, “but I’ll handle it for now. I promise you’ll get the captain privileges as soon as we’re out in the open, alright?” 

Shaw shrugged. 

“I don’t mind. I’m used to being ferried around.” 

“I’m sure you are, but the purpose of this is that you learn something,” Flynn replied, pushing the sailboat away from the quay. “And I know that you always need to have at least an approximate knowledge about everything. Which is understandable, of course, given your job, bnd since there’s very little that I know more about than you, just please, let me have this.”

Shaw narrowed his eyes at him, slightly taken aback by the sudden seriousness in his voice. But Flynn was already focused on something else, as if he was attuning himself with the sailboat itself. The vessel seemed to have sensed that it was free, and immediately began to drift away, despite it still loosely flapping sails. The Kul Tiran settled himself on the side of the stern, with his inner hand on the tiller and the kicking strap of the mainsail secured in his outer hand between his thighs. He pulled at it, forcing the boom to align a bit more with the sailboat’s axis, and the sail immediately took wind and propelled the boat forwards.

Shaw, without having anything better to do, settled himself on the grating beside Flynn. He twisted his body slightly, enough to lock his elbow against the gunwale and look back, towards the quay, and watched as it became smaller and smaller, as _Intrepid_ glided smoothly across the dark waters of the bay. 

He felt Flynn nudge his knee gently with the side of his boot, so he turned back around, to look at him questioningly. The Kul Tiran was looking back at him with the same affectionate amusement written all over his face, just like before. 

“Alright, mister Shaw,” Flynn said said, ignoring the immediate startled frown that appeared on Shaw’s face at the lack of his title, with which Flynn usually addressed him. “What direction are we heading?” 

Shaw’s frown deepened, but he glanced around quickly and provided an answer without missing a beat. “Northwest.” 

“Top marks,” Flynn grinned. “Next question. What’s the direction of the wind, then?”

Shaw’s first instinct was to look at the sails. The second was to note the direction of the waves. But he found himself at loss, when the information he had gathered apparently excluded one another. 

Flynn quickly noticed the slightly helpless look that must’ve appeared on his face, and he politely pointed towards the top of the mast. It still took Shaw a moment to notice the thin, blue ribbon tied there. 

“It’s technically cheating, but, yeah,” the Kul Tiran shrugged with a sheepish smile. “Tand used it to practice for his exams at the Academy, and none of us had ever bothered to climb up there again and take it down.” 

“Weren’t you both at the Academy, though?” Shaw asked, sort of absently, as he observed the direction in which the ribbon was flapping. 

“Oh, I wish,” Flynn replied with a sigh, “I even tried to save up a bit for the tution, but there’s only so much you can earn on the streets.” 

Shaw tore his eyes away from the ribbon to focus on Flynn’s face instead. The other man reciprocated his gaze, but the smile on his lips didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Didn’t matter in the end, I suppose. Tand still taught me everything they taught him, and the rest I’ve learned from the pirates anyways,” Flynn said, but it was obvious that the flippancy in his voice was forced.

Shaw studied him for a couple more seconds, before he stated eventually: “The wind’s blowing from the east.” 

Flynn nodded with approval. 

“One of the major factors that determine the speed of the vessel is its position regarding the wind,” he said, taking again the same slow and patient tone as before, when he explained the sailboat’s rigging, “ _Intrepid’s_ bow points northwest, but we have the wind from the east, hitting her port. Which means we’re on the broad reach.” 

He paused, then yanked at the hiller, changing their course sharply counter-clockwise. He pulled at the jib and main sheets as the sailboat gradually edged towards the line of the wind, trimming the sails until they were aligned almost with the longitudinal axis of the ship. 

“What’s the course now, mister Shaw?” Flynn asked again after a while, eyeing the other man with kind curiosity. 

“Northeast,” Shaw replied, just as quick as before. 

“Splendid,” the Kul Tiran praised him. “That’s called beating. It’s as close as any sailboat is able to go against the direction of the wind. The closer you are towards the line of the wind, the more you have to trim the sails. The more you’re running downwind, the more you can ease them, allowing them to gather as much wind as possible. Is that clear?”

Shaw nodded quickly. 

Flynn beamed at him, and extended his hand sweepingly, handing him the mainsheet. “Alright, mister Shaw, to the helm, if you please.”

*

Capitancy proved to be something Flynn simply excelled at.

He stood beside the mast, with squared shoulders and his hands clasped behind his back, shouting commands at Shaw as if he was in charge of an entire galleon with at least a hundred crewmen working under him. 

His great humour didn’t leave him even for a moment, and every single one of his commands was given to Shaw with a bright smile across his face and an excited glimmer in his sea-blue eyes. He didn’t spare praises either, and made sure to reward Shaw justly wherever he responded to him just right. 

Flynn’s demeanor emanated with confidence and years of experience, and Shaw soon found himself entirely absorbed by everything Flynn told him about, showed him, or asked him to do. And as they practiced one maneuver after another, some of them even multiple times if it happened to be necessary, the day had passed way too quickly to Shaw’s liking.

It was well into the afternoon, when Flynn finally called it a day and gave Shaw his last command, which was to set sail back towards the outskirts of Boralus. 

He kept Shaw at the helm, sprawling himself across the gratings instead, with his back propped against the gunwale, his head tipped backwards and eyes closed, as he basked in the warm, afternoon sun. 

The clouds had cleared completely during the day and the sun shone unobstructed for the majority of the afternoon, the fallout of which now appeared across Flynn’s cheeks and nose in the form of a gradually darkening sunburn. The prolonged sun exposure would probably worsen his already irritated skin, but it wasn’t the worst sunburn that Shaw had ever seen on him.

He looked like a textbook example of leisure and relaxation, and Shaw would lie if he said that he didn’t feel particularly at ease himself. It was rare that something had distracted him enough to make him forget about his responsibilities and work, and he was pleasantly surprised that it was Flynn Fairwind, out of all the people, that managed to accomplish just that. He didn’t even notice that his thoughts had apparently manifested on his face, until he realized that Flynn was looking right back at thim, with half-lidded eyes and a soft, languid smile on his face. 

“Tides, I didn’t realize that returning to your precious post on _Wind’s Redemption_ would be such a pleasurable prospect to you,” he said, without a trace of hurt in his voice despite the meaning of his words. “I thought you were enjoying yourself, I truly did. And yet I can see that you just can’t wait to get back.” 

“I did enjoy myself,” Shaw protested, “I am still enjoying myself, for that matter.” 

“Oh, really? Then what were you thinking about?” Flynn inquired, pushing himself off the gunwale and sitting up a bit more straight. He leaned forward, rested his elbow on his bent knee and propped his cheek on his knuckles, with his head cocked slightly to the side as he regarded Shaw with amused curiosity. “I don’t recall I’ve ever seen you this relaxed.” 

Shaw looked away, frantically trying to gather his thoughts. It wasn’t that he was suddenly nervous around Flynn. But this entire situation, that thing that somehow started to exist between them… He’s been a spy for a vast majority of his life, and yet, he had never felt so _seen_ , by anyone else. And he wasn’t entirely sure whether this revelation was welcome to him or not. 

“The view’s nice,” he said eventually, refusing to take his eyes off the horizon to make a point. Flynn laughed softly beside him. 

“Sure is,” he agreed kindly. 

Shaw reluctantly shifted his gaze to look at Flynn again and found the sailor staring right back. They looked at each other for a while, until Shaw felt a strange, uneasy feeling stir inside of him, when he realized he couldn’t immediately guess the sailor’s intentions. 

“You’ve got freckles,” Flynn remarked, as if it was some sort of novelty to him. 

Shaw fought the urge to scoff. “How observant, captain. I’ve had them my entire life, for your information.” 

“No, I mean,” Flynn backtracked immediately, and Shaw raised his eyebrows at the sudden embarrassment that flashed in his usually confident gaze. “You’ve got more. Than usual.” 

Shaw glanced down and sure enough, his forearms were covered with an array of freckles in varying shades and sizes, in much greater numbers than he remembered from the morning, when he had dressed himself for the day. He could only suspect that his face, which was the other part of his body exposed directly to the sunlight, was in a similar state. It wasn’t something new, nor alarming to him. They would fade in a matter of days anyways. His skin was rather sensitive to sunlight, and while he couldn’t remember the last time he had a proper suntan without sunburns, it was quite often that he developed new freckles. Sometimes even in places he hadn’t even considered before. 

“That happens sometimes,” he shrugged. 

Flynn looked at him for a couple more seconds, visibly conflicted about something. The spymaster briefly considered asking him what was going on, but then Flynn spoke out on his own. 

“It’s nice,” he said, in a strangely quiet voice. “Makes you look distinguished.” 

Shaw’s brain promptly decided to cease working. Did Flynn Fairwind just compliment him? Why would Flynn Fairwind even consider complimenting him? Or more specifically - why had he decided to compliment him on his freckles, out of all the possible things? Shaw had seen him talk to other people. Had seen him flirt with men and women alike. With humans, elves, draenei, even worgen. And he always seemed to be in his own element in that kind of social situations, always overly-confident and never thinking about anything twice. So why on Azeroth was he suddenly acting so… unsure? 

Flynn had probably sensed his uneasiness, as the expression on his face lacked its former softness, turning into something more guarded instead. He was still watching Shaw, but his eyes were now cautious and hesitant. 

Shaw realized abruptly, that he should probably say something back or Flynn would take his silence as his lack of desire to continue their conversation any further. It had been ages since he was an awkward, gangly teenager - why was this so hard to him, all of the sudden? 

“Thank you,” he said, and regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth. It came out way to polite and reserved, and he could see it reflect on Flynn’s face. “I appreciate it,” he added quickly, frantically searching for words that would express his earnest gratitude, without being too direct. “And that you decided to invite me to come sailing with you. I must admit, I was reluctant at first, but you’re proved to be a skilled mentor. And,” he paused, considering his next words. He glanced briefly at Flynn, only to find the man staring at him with wide eyes and a hopeful, yet still cautious expression, as if the Kul Tiran wasn’t sure if he was hearing him right. Shaw struggled to stop himself from fixing his moustache, which probably didn’t even need fixing, and even if it did, it didn’t really matter. But it was a habit of his, that he had somewhat subconsciously developed along the years, whenever he felt particularly out of place. If any of his agents ever heard about this pathetic attempt on proper social interaction, they’d surely fall overboard from laughter. 

He took a deep breath, before he spoke again: “And I’d very much like to do it again sometime, if you’re inclined.” 

Flynn’s face lit up as if he were a kid again, that found out about Winter Veil supposedly coming early that year. Shaw sighed with relief, knowing he was at least partially successful in conveying his thoughts into a somewhat coherent statement. Despite how troublesome it proved to be for him. 

“Of course I am inclined!” Flynn beamed at him, “Just say the word and I’ll be right behind you. _Intrepid_ is yours to command whenever you please, captain Shaw.” 

Shaw couldn’t help but reciprocate Flynn’s wide grin with a nod, and a small, slightly more reserved smile of his own. 

Comfortable silence fell between them, and the air filled with the soft rustle of sails, creaking of the wood and rigging and the sound of waves splitting below the hull. 

The sun was slowly making its way below the horizon, painting the waters of the bay in warm hues and Shaw realized it certainly had been a long time since he last took a moment to witness a sunset, just for the sake of doing it. He had been stationed in Kul Tiras for a couple of months now, and all that he had to do was just stand on the deck of the _Wind’s Redemption_ and look to the west. But there had always been something - a pile of reports to review, another assault to plan, important missives that required replying. And so he had been used to retreating below deck as soon as Wyrmbane dismissed him from his post in the late afternoon, wanting nothing more but a warm meal and a cup of tea. But now, as he watched the vibrant clouds roll above the horizon, it seemed that he had been missing out. 

His thoughts drifted subconsciously to the man sitting beside him. He had missed out on a lot of things, apparently. 

Shaw felt something nudge against the side of his boot, and roused himself from his musings. Flynn had managed to sprawl himself on the wooden gratings again, in a position that didn’t look particularly comfortable to Shaw, but was apparently just to the Kul Tiran’s likings. He was nudging his own boot against Shaw’s, while keeping his eyes trained intently on the rest of him, with an unreadable mix of emotions written on his face. Shaw could tell that he was asking for something, but also that there was a glimmer of something like… a challenge, perhaps? 

Oh, so they were back at primary school level of flirting, apparently. Thankfully, Shaw was the older one between the two of them. He extended his leg as if he was about to stretch the back muscles of his calf, then used the movement to pin Flynn’s own extremity to the wooden planks, effectively stopping his nudging. 

He could feel the Kul Tiran tense under him, and he gave Shaw a started look, as he quite clearly didn’t anticipate such an upfront approach from him. But he quickly noticed Shaw’s slightly amused gaze, and it was enough for him to relax again. Shaw’s reaction had apparently answered whatever he had been silently asking about before, as he stretched himself across the wooden planks even further, until he was able to stuff his free leg between Shaw’s leather-clad calves, entangling their extremities together. 

Shaw just rolled his eyes at him with an amused sigh, but didn’t change his position whatsoever. 

Flynn took his place by the tiller again as they approached the quay from which they had originally set sail all those hours ago. He led the sailboat slowly towards it, until it was securely standing longside against the wharf. 

Shaw took care of the mooring. At least, attempted to do so. Flynn watched him patiently as he struggled to tie the mooring knots, and provided him with helpful tips and lots of praise, as soon as Shaw managed to successfully tether the sailboat to the bollard. 

Lowering the sails took them almost half the time as raising them in the morning, as Shaw was more used to the rigging and the purposes of each respective rope. Getting the rest of the sailboat in order was just a matter of a couple more minutes. 

When they were done Flynn hoisted himself onto the quay first, and when he offered his hand to Shaw, this time the Spymaster didn’t hesitate to take it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is, more or less, [Intrepid](https://i.imged.pl/aquila-schochl-zaglowka-jacht-lodka-zaglowa-sailhorse-efsix-omega.jpg). Just imagine it made out of wood instead.
> 
> English is not my native language so, as always, please let me know if you find any mistakes. And as always, if you enjoyed reading this, please feel free to tell me so <3.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://xcosmicreaver.tumblr.com/).


End file.
